In this evocative episode of "Untold Stories," recorded live at the Florida Theater, we dive into the theme of 'There and Back Again.' The show features an array of captivating stories that take us on a journey through the diverse experiences of our storytellers.
Barbara Colaciello of BAB'S LAB expertly guides the narrative as the artistic director and host of "Untold Stories," bringing unique stories to life with her insightful leadership.
The evening begins with Jolie, an independent singer, songwriter, and keyboard player from Saint Augustine, celebrated for her two CDs and recognition as Saint Augustine's Best Female Vocalist and Best Musician in 2019 and 2020. Her soulful melodies in "Belong" reflect on the bittersweet nostalgia for childhood friendships and the simplicity of the 'good old days.'
Yanira Cardona, with her vibrant personality and gripping narrative, transports us from the vibrant beaches of Puerto Rico to the challenging yet rewarding journey in Jacksonville, Florida. Her story is a vivid depiction of cultural shock, personal growth, and her eventual role in shaping the city's cultural landscape.
Bob Wiltfong's story provides a contrast, focusing on the evolution of dreams and identity. From his childhood moniker 'Goober' in Omaha, Nebraska, to his aspirations of fame and a stark encounter with reality, Bob's narrative is a candid reflection on finding purpose and contentment beyond the allure of fame.
The episode concludes with the powerful voice of Yvette Angelique, who spans six decades in her storytelling. From imaginative childhood tales to challenging corporate norms as a diversity leader, and finally embracing her artistic identity, Yvette's journey underscores the importance of remaining true to one's convictions and the transformative power of art and activism.
Each story, unique in its essence, is bound by the common thread of resilience, self-discovery, and the unexpected turns life takes. Tune in to "Untold Stories" for an evening of inspiration, laughter, and introspection, capturing the essence of human experience and the paths we navigate in our journey there and back again.
Transcript
Please note that the following transcript has been generated by automated technology. While efforts have been made to ensure accuracy, there may be errors, inconsistencies, or deviations from the original audio. We encourage listeners to refer to the actual podcast episode for complete and accurate content. This transcript is provided for convenience and may not fully capture the nuances of the spoken word.
(gentle music)
David Luckin:
- Welcome to Untold Stories, a production of the Florida Theater and WJCT Public Media.
Tonight's program was recorded May 6th, 2022.
The theme, There and Back Again.
Barbara Colaciello:
- So welcome, welcome to tonight's Untold Stories.
And our theme is There and Back Again.
It was a very interesting theme.
And I found myself constantly saying
to the storytellers when I'd work with them,
"Where is there?"
I am thrilled to present, Jolie.
(audience applauds)
Jolie:
- Thank you so much for the warm welcome.
I'm just gonna play some songs throughout the evening
and this first one I wanna play for you is a song
that I wrote kind of about missing my childhood friends
and what I like to call my good old days.
This one's called "Belong".
(gentle music)
♪ Close doors ignored ♪
♪ I can't say that I don't care anymore ♪
♪ Where you are these days ♪
♪ Contoured that keeps score ♪
♪ Is it too late to call for an encore? ♪
♪ All the better days ♪
♪ All the times you saved me from myself ♪
♪ And made me feel like I could measure up ♪
♪ And I know those days are gone ♪
♪ I think I've known it all along ♪
♪ But can can you blame me for wanting to belong? ♪
♪ I've tried and I've lied ♪
♪ For the sake of keeping us alive ♪
♪ But here I am missing you ♪
♪ And all the times you saved me from myself ♪
(gentle music)
♪ And made me feel like I could measure up ♪
♪ And I know those days are gone ♪
♪ I think I've known it all along ♪
♪ But can can you blame me for wanting to belong? ♪
♪ Years passed I still go back to the chapter titled Us ♪
♪ Nowadays I find it all a little better left untouched ♪
♪ You turn the page on me and I'm still stuck ♪
♪ I remember all the times you saved me from myself ♪
♪ And made me feel like I could measure up ♪
♪ And I know those days are gone ♪
♪ I think I've known it all along ♪
♪ But can can you blame me for wanting to belong? ♪
♪ But can can you blame me for wanting to belong? ♪
♪ I miss the feeling that you and I belong ♪
(audience cheering)
(audience applauding)
Barbara Colaciello:
Okay, so I'm excited.
I want you to give a big round of applause
to my dear friend, Yaya! — Yanira Cardona!
(audience applauding)
(audience cheering)
(audience applauding)
Yanira Cardona:
Oh man.
I love daydreaming about the days
when I was a senior in high school in Puerto Rico.
I could hear the seven fell going off
and I'm telling my friends to hurry up
and grab their stuff so we could walk to the beach
that was literally right next to our high school.
I could feel the warmth of the sand in my feet
and I closed my eyes and I could hear my friends dancing salsa.
I could feel the warmth of the sun hitting my face
and when I opened my eyes, it's 40 degrees.
I'm in a town that worships a dinosaur statue for some reason
with a football team that, well, let's just say go jags.
(audience laughing)
It was a culture shock.
I mean, I just came from an island
that literally celebrates everything.
I mean, our baseball team came in second place
for the World Baseball Series
and the governor shut down the island.
We had a parade.
Even our kayakers came out with the little kayaks to celebrate, okay?
That's how much we celebrate in Puerto Rico.
To a city that if it rains, oh my God, a tsunami is coming.
We can't go out.
Can't do anything.
It was hard for me.
And although I started working in radio off the bat
in my senior year, I still saw Jacksonville like a 1950s television.
It was still very black and white.
It was an unseasoned barbecue chicken.
Just with salt and pepper.
Then I got married.
Yes, believe it or not,
I got married at the age of 20
and I thought I found my Prince Charming.
But I quickly realized I didn't want to be a military wife.
I'm a Navy brat.
I grew up in that life.
I know what that life is.
And I respect it and I love it.
But when you're a military wife,
you have to follow your husband wherever he goes.
And I wanted to be my own independent woman.
So I got divorced.
And I was like, "Aha, this is my golden ticket."
I felt like Charlie from Willy Wonka.
So I went to Full Sail University in Orlando
and I have graduated with my associates
as the advanced achiever
with my associates in sound engineer
and my bachelor's in music business.
I thought I 'd hit the road.
I was gonna be like the girl in the journey song.
You know that song that you guys love?
Don't stop believing here in Jacksonville.
Can we retire that song, please?
Anyways.
So I thought I was gonna get on the train
and go on the midnight train and take me anywhere.
Took me back to Jacksonville.
(audience laughs)
Now I'm staying with my mom.
And at that time, that AM radio station turned FM.
And so I started working with them.
And the landing called us
and wanted to do a Hispanic festival.
And so I did three Hispanic festivals
in the Jacksonville Landing.
Latina hot summer fiesta.
It was the first Latina summer.
It was the first Latina festival ever
at the Jacksonville Landing in 2014.
We had over 10,000 people attend each and every festival.
And that's when I started seeing Jacksonville
a little bit more colorful.
That's when I started seeing the blues in our waters.
That's when I started seeing the beautiful different shades of browns that we have here.
But even then, it wasn't enough for me to stay.
I got a phone call from a friend and he was like, "Hey, come back to Orlando."
"I know some people that are starting some radio stations and I think it'll be great for you to join them."
I was like, "All right, let's go."
So I packed up my stuff and I went back to Orlando and I helped start the first ever Reggaeton radio station in Florida.
And on top of that, I was the only woman in the company, okay, honey?
And I was a general manager.
(audience cheers)
Although literally I slept in my car a couple times, okay, I'm not gonna lie.
It was rough, but I was sitting with the city.
I was sitting with the mayor of Orlando.
I was sitting with all these CEO and executive people from Orlando and Kissimmee, making big moves.
I did a car show.
I didn't know, I don't know anything about cars,but I did a car show for them.
I felt like I was the boss.
In fact, they started calling me la jefa (the boss), right?
They really did.
And in one of the meetings, my phone is going off
and it's going crazy, crazy.
I'm like, "I'm sorry, guys, excuse me.
Let me answer this really quick."
"Hello?
Huh?
I don't understand what you're saying.
Calm down."
You know what?
I'll be at the station in a little bit.
It was my program director.
He was so upset.
So I get to the station.
We just moved to this new office.
I stumble walking in and he's there
with his friend in the studio.
And I'm like, "Hey, what happened? Why are you so upset?"
You are so ####### stupid. You don't know how to do your job.
How hard is it for you to staple some goddamn papers?
You know what I have to do now?
I have to waste my gas and take this paper to the winner."
"What are you talking about, stapling some papers?
I know I stapled some papers.
I know I did my job."
"No, you are so ####### stupid.
I don't know why you have this job."
And by the time he said that, he was in my face
and I was like, "You better relax.
I'm not your wife.
I'm not your daughter."
He's like, "Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?"
And he pushes me.
And I pushed him back.
(audience applauding)
Next thing I know I'm feeling this burning sensation
on my right cheek.
And at that moment, I realized I just got
smacked in my face for the first time in my whole entire life.
And I was like, "I'm gonna kill this ############.
We gonna kill each other!"
Or I could call the cops and he could go to jail for this for real and ruin him.
And I called the cops and I told them the story.
And they're like, "Well, you admitted to the fact that you pushed him back so we could take you to jail too."
And I was like, "Another slap in my face."
And then I spoke with the owner of the radio station. Somebody who I thought was like my brother, somebody that I spent that Christmas with.
I didn't spend that Christmas with my family.
I spent my Christmas with him and his family.
And the first thing he told me was,
"Well, what did you do to make him so mad?"
And I was like, "Another slap in my face."
And it slapped me so hard that it slapped me back to Puerto Rico when my dad.
My dad was like, "You know what? Come back home for a little bit. Come to Puerto Rico."
So I went back to PR.
And that was the first time I felt what depression was.
I felt lost.
I wasn't the happy, "Yaya you guys know."
I was angry, I was confused.
And I felt like Eeyore.
Like there was a gray cloud over my head.
And then my birthday was gonna come up.
And you know, I'm a Gemini. We Gemini's, we go all out.
And my grandmother dies on my birthday.
The one grandmother that I sing, that I am Yaya because of my Yaya.
She dies on my birthday.
And my cloud just got heavier and heavier to the point where it formed Hurricane Maria.
And Hurricane Maria hit my beautiful island.
And although Hurricane Irma my hit a week before, but it didn't do as much damage on my side of the island as Hurricane Maria did.
My island that was, is green, and you see parrots flying and wild horses everywhere, all of a sudden, it was like a horror film.
It was, all the trees were with no leaves.
The trees looked like they were gonna attack you with their branches.
It was dead horses and dead parrots and dead cows all on the road.
Where I'm from, my family's from Sabana Grande and Guánica — particularly I stayed in Sabana Grande,
We were trapped.
We couldn't get out.
There was literally one way in and one way out.
And the farmers came out with their machete, and they got this stuff to clear up the road.
And what people don't know is that it rained for nine days straight after Hurricane Maria.
Nine days straight.
But hey, at least we had some paper towels from the US.
You know what I'm saying?
Thanks, President!
So you can only imagine how we were on the island.
We didn't know anything about anything.
We didn't know, there was no formal communication.
The only formal communication was an AM radio station.
And they were telling us what was going on.
And somebody said that there was a gas truck coming
to my hometown.
So me and my cousin went at two in the morning to the gas station.
And we were calling number 13.
We were like, yeah, we're calling number 13.
We gonna get this gas.
And then at six in the morning, they're like,
no, they're going to the other gas station.
So we all got in our car.
We went to the gas station.
And of course, there were already cars there.
And I was frustrated.
I was like, why is this happening?
But then when I look up, everyone was outside their car playing music.
The kids were dancing, having a good time.
In the time that we should be selfish with what we have, the people that were in their house
were coming outside offering us a little bit of water and coffee and bread with butter to us while we were waiting for the gas.
That never came.
I waited 13 hours and the gas truck never came.
And I remember a couple days later, I went to the grocery store.
We were only allowed five people at a time to the grocery store.
You get how to pay cash.
And all of a sudden, cell phones are going off.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.
I'm like, oh my god.
And I'm waiting for my ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
to go off.
And my phone wasn't going off because the only cell phone
company that started working 11 days after Hurricane Maria
was the local cell phone company of Puerto Rico Claro.
So I'm desperate.
You can only imagine everyone talking with their loved ones.
And I'm like, please, who can I?
So I turn around to the guy behind me.
And I'm like, listen, I will pay you whatever it is.
I will buy your family food.
Just let me call my mom.
I'm her only child.
I can only imagine the anguish that she had.
And I called my-- and he's like, yeah, please, use the phone.
So I call my mom.
And my mom was in a meeting.
Every Wednesday, they have a meeting in their credit union.
And my mom says, "Ay dio mio!"
Yeah.
And I start bawling.
And of course, she starts bawling.
She can't talk.
I can't talk.
And I didn't want to take up too much of his time.
And I call my best friend, Toni Smailagic.
And he's like, "We're trying to bring you on a shipping boat!"
Because I don't know if you guys know.
Jacksonville's port is the port that Puerto Rico uses for important and exporting for everything.
By law, we have to.
So we have a great relationship.
And so they were literally trying to ship me back.
And that's when I realized, you know what?
I'm always going back to Jacksonville.
So just like a boomerang, I went back to good ol' Jacksonville.
And I was like, man, what am I going to do now?
I'm here in Jax.
I don't know if I want to go back to radio.
I'm still traumatized.
I'm like, what do I like to do?
And I remember I'm sitting down with my best friend, Tony.
And he just moved back not too long ago.
And he's talking about how he wants to introduce Jacksonville to Jacksonville and take pictures of all the events.
And he was talking about starting his company, Cre8Jax.
And I was like, man, friend, that sounds dope.
Man, I want to do something too.
I was like, man, I'm already known here in the Hispanic community.
But Jacksonville is very separated.
It's the whites with the whites, the blacks with the blacks,
the Hispanics with the Hispanics, the Asians with the Asians.
We're not working together how we should.
And I remember telling him, I want to be the Yellow Pages.
I want to be Jacksonville's Yellow Pages.
I want to connect us all.
I want us all to work together.
And I remember I closed my eyes.
I said, I can envision just us like being in a park, people dancing, salsa, having a good time mingling, getting to know each other, no matter the color, the race, just experiencing a good time.
And when I opened my eyes, it's October 13, 2017, my very first festival, Viva La Fiesta.
And that all happened because Janice, the executive director from the Landing, when she realized that I moved back, she called me right then and there, like the next day from talking with Tony.
She's like, "Hey, I heard you're back in Jacksonville. I need you to come do this festival for me, the Hispanic festival."
And I was like, "Janice, thank you, but I'm not working with nobody.
I'm not with no media company, no,"
But she's like, "OK, well, I need you to come do this festival for me."
I was like, "yeah, but I don't think you're understanding. I'm not with the company. I don't have no backup. It's just me."
I don't want to-- you know what I'm saying?
It's just me.
She was like, didn't you do these festivals by yourself
with the company anyways?
I was like, yeah, she's like, so what's the difference?
She saw something of me that I didn't even realize.
Like, I made all these other people money.
Why can't I make myself money?
What the hell?
[LAUGHTER]
So I decided to start Gaya Productions.
And that's why I'm here.
And all of a sudden, PGA Tour started supporting me
and started sponsoring me, Florida Blue.
And all these big companies started
supporting little Yaya Productions.
And that is why I feel I was meant to come be here in Jacksonville, was to bring that culture, that salsa,
that heat from my island that we so much need here in Jacksonville.
[CHEERING]
Thank you for listening to my untold story.
[LAUGHTER]
Barbara Colaciello:
I told you she's on fire.
Ah, that was fabulous.
Thank you so much.
Yanira Cardona:
Thank you.
[CHEERING]
[LAUGHTER]
[CHEERING]
[CHEERING]
[CHEERING]
Thank you.
[LAUGHTER]
[APPLAUSE]
Barbara Colaciello:
Thank you.
Here you go.
Bob...
[APPLAUSE]
Wiltfong!
Bob Wiltfong:
Thanks, Babs.
[APPLAUSE]
Hello.
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you so much for coming out as well.
I'm echoing the sentiments from earlier.
And for giving me your ears for a little bit, hopefully you find my story entertaining, and somewhat educational.
I was born Robert Allen Wiltfong at a Immanuel Hospital in Omaha, Nebraska.
I was the youngest of six kids, and my older siblings would call me Bobby.
So I grew up as Bobby, but more commonly around the house they would call me Goober.
[LAUGHTER]
Because my oldest brother said I slobbered a lot.
I looked like a Goober, so he gave me that name.
So I was Goober, the baby of the family.
And we grew up on 68th Street in Omaha, Nebraska, in a white, large kind of shoebox house.
And I loved this house.
My dad put a basketball hoop in the front yard along the driveway, and I'd play basketball with my friends.
And there was a lot of kids, black kids in my neighborhood, so I was always Larry Bird, right?
They could always pick Michael Jordan, Isaiah Thomas, whatever. But I was always Larry Bird.
And then we had a huge backyard, at least by kid's center.
It's a huge backyard, and it was adjacent to a little league baseball club, Omaha Country Club.
And I would literally go for my backyard to jump over the fence during the summer months, and you could smell the fresh cut grass, and you'd feel the sun warming your skin, and you'd have hundreds of other kids along with me, and our little baseball caps
and little league uniforms all going, "A-badda, a-badda, a-badda, swing!"
So it was a great kind of all-American upbringing, but winter times were my favorite there.
We would get blizzards in Omaha, and when blizzards happened, we got no school.
And there would be high snow drifts in our backyard, and we would tunnel some, we would dig out tunnels in those snow drifts, and have a great time.
My dad would put down this big plastic tarp in the backyard and flood it with a pool of water, and we'd ice skate.
It was awesome.
At Christmas time, free of school, all my siblings, we'd hang out in the house, we'd play board games, we would sneak peeks at gifts underneath the Christmas tree, and we had a fireplace in the living room where we put real logs on it, you could smell the fire.
Even today when I smell that smell, it takes me back to my childhood.
And then we started to grow up, and one by one, my older siblings became adults,
and they left the house, and became less and less frequent, especially around Christmas time at the house.
I became an empty nester, if you will, of siblings.
And I too wanted to grow up to be an adult.
I looked up to my older siblings, and I decided to step in the right direction, as to go by Bob.
No more Bobby, no more Goober, okay? I'm Bob.
And I dreamt of going to a big city, and I wanted to be on a cool TV show like Saturday Night Live. I thought that was the coolest thing ever.
And I wanted to be world famous.
I felt a little bit like the Jimmy Stewart character, from "It's a Wonderful Life", right?
I want to get out of this town.
I want to get away from Potter.
[laughter]
And I envisioned myself in this shoe box of a house that, when I became an adult, people would line up around the block
and just line up to see the magical life where Bob Wiltfong began.
Wow!
Incredible!
So when I picked my majors for college, I went with broadcast news journalism.
I went with that major because, honestly, in Omaha, I didn't see a path to any Saturday Night Live.
And I felt like being a TV news reporter or anchor would be the next best thing.
So I went there.
My first job out of college was at KPLC TV, Channel 7 in Lake Charles, Louisiana.
We got some Lake Charles people?
All right.
Laissez le bon temps rouler!
Okay. Yeah.
I know, I know some Cajun French. That's it.
The first day at the TV station, my news director,
pulled me off to the side in a hush voice.
He said, "Bob, what's your middle name?"
And I said, "It's Alan. Why?"
And he goes, "I want you to report under your middle name here.
And I want you to be Bob Allen."
I was like, "Okay, why?"
And he said, "Well, I think when our Cajun audience hears Wiltfong, it may be a little off-settling to them."
So I went by Bob Allen, 7-8, your service, for two years there.
I should point out that my news director had probably one of the most least off-putting names in the English language.
He was James Smith.
About a year into my stay at KPLC, a gorgeous girl walked into the newsroom.
And her name was Jill Newton, also very non-offensive to a Cajun person,
Jill Newton.
And I knew that she loved me because a few years later she accepted my last name
in marriage. She got screwed.
In 1998, a big break happened.
I get a job offer at a 24-hour local news channel in Long Island, New York.
I'm a kid from Omaha. I've never been,
"Hey, all right, let's play Kanaesta."
That's all I know of Long Island. I've never been in New York.
And I recognize this is an opportunity for a kid who grew up wanting to get to the
big city, wanting to be world famous, and be on cool television shows.
New York City. That's awesome.
Suddenly and shockingly, these dreams are closer than they've ever been in my life.
And I figure, — 'cause I take the job — And I figure this is a good time to step into the light of my life, to reimagine myself, to shed my background, and to become a new person.
So I decide I'm going to be Bob Butler at News 12 Long Island.
And I do this because I feel like Bob Butler sounds a little bit more
networky.
Sounds more like a guy who would report from Ukraine as opposed to Bob
Wiltfong.
It made sense at the time.
The other reason I did it is because I was an investigative journalist at that
point.
That's the reason why I won the Edward R. Murrow.
I did some investigative reporting before that job.
I wanted another layer of privacy between me and somebody who might get really
upset at the reporting I did.
I wanted to be Goober in disguise.
One of my first priorities when I landed at New York is this childhood dream.
Finally, I get to a place where I can explore this idea of just being a comedian.
I settle on a theater in Chelsea called the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater.
Fans!
I'm very fortunate.
I get on the ground floor of this thing before it takes off.
Their headquarters at that time was a very tiny black box theater in Chelsea.
The stage could maybe hold ten people. OK? Small.
But I loved it.
And everyday I got to get up on stage with my friends and chatter.
"What's your suggestion? What's your suggestion? Let's play."
It reminded me of jumping over the fence for little league.
Let's play. Let's play.
The summertime was my favorite at that theater.
The theater, just to really get a sense of it, constantly reeked of ##### and sweat.
There were yellow blinding lights that wouldn't allow you to see beside behind the
first row.
And we would do 48 hours continuous improv comedy marathon during the summer.
Yeah.
Only in your 20s are you going to do something like that.
I remember one of my friends from New 12 Long Island, the TV station, came to one of those shows in the middle of the night.
It was like 3 a.m. is one of my slots.
And he remarked, it was Glenn Pettit, and he said, you know, there's more people on the stage than there are in the audience right now.
That's very true.
And then 9/11 happened.
I had to... my friend Glenn, who went missing, Glenn was a photographer on the weekends at the TV station.
And during the week, he was a full-time member of the NYPD in their video unit.
He loved shooting video.
And his job with the NYPD was to capture emergency situations for training for the police department.
Now to set a scene for you, Glenn, when you met him, you're like, you're a cop.
He talked like a cop.
He had a presence about him that you're in trouble if you cross Glenn.
Little short guy, huge balls.
Huge.
We would go to crime scenes as a team on the weekends. And within 5 minutes, Glenn would come back to me, tell me everything off the record and on the record that the police knew. And he would get me behind police tape so we could shoot good video.
He was one of those guys.
On 9/11, though, he talked himself into a space that he couldn't get out.
It breaks my heart every time I think of it.
A friend of ours, who's also a photographer at the Fox affiliate in New York, shot the last images we saw of Glenn.
Ed, with his camera and his shoulder, he's following firefighters into the basement of one of the World Trade Center buildings before it collapses.
And you want to stop the video.
Bring it all back.
And you can't.
In the aftermath of 9/11, Bob Butler has the assignment of putting together a video tribute for Glenn.
It's my friend.
We're going to do him a service on our TV station.
I interview a number of his friends and family.
And one of the reoccurring themes, among other things, besides the fact that he's a practical joker and his neighborhood friend called him Frickin' Frack. They were just a terror in the neighborhood.
He's a horrible driver.
But one of the reoccurring themes, all the friends and family said, and I took from it too, is,
"God, we saw Glenn. The last time we saw him, he was doing what he loved to do. Had the camera on his shoulder."
I went home at night, looked myself in the mirror.
I'm not doing what I love to do.
My heart, my childhood is in this comedy thing.
So six months after 9/11, I quit TV news.
And I pursue a full-time gig, if you can call it a gig.
Mostly it's unemployment interrupted by gigs.
As an actor and a comedian.
It's October 25, 2004.
And I'm standing in a beautifully lit TV station on the west side of Manhattan.
And a studio audience, packed, is laughing and rising in laughter to a comedy piece of mine
that's playing on one of the monitors.
During the commercial break, the host, Jon Stewart, turns to the audience.
Says, "Ladies and gentlemen, Daily Show correspondent Bob Wiltfong."
I step into the light.
Less than a year later, that light goes dark.
Rather than firing me from the Daily Show, Jon Stewart and the powers that be at that show
do what they've done to so many before me and will do to so many after me.
They just stop calling.
There's no explanation.
There's no goodbye to my coworkers who I thought were my friends.
There's just a mysterious awkward ghosting that lasts to this day.
What do you do when your childhood dreams of what being an adult is doesn't match up to what you want out of your adulthood?
Why am I here?
About three years ago, my wife's work brought us to Florida.
We settled in Nocatee.
I didn't even know about Nocatee.
They have a lot of golf carts in Nocatee.
We have a splash park in Nocatee.
We're in gated communities.
I don't know why.
We are.
[laughter]
Sorry.
Yeah.
Thank you.
[laughter]
Thank you.
Don't tell my kids that.
Don't tell my kids.
They think it's awesome.
And I start to build a childhood home that I remember.
We've got a home in Nocatee with a basketball hoop in the driveway.
We've got a pool in the backyard.
It's exactly like my childhood home, but it completely different.
Times have changed.
A few weeks after we moved into our home in Nocatee, it's the day after the 2020 election.
Yeah.
Things are tense.
Okay?
Especially in Nocatee.
There's a lot of tension.
[laughter]
It didn't help that I had a Biden sticker on my hybrid vehicle.
[cheers and applause]
We're out walking our dog on our cul de sac.
I'm dressed kind of like this.
Okay?
I couldn't look much more like a dad if you paid me.
Walk on our dog gumdrop.
This is my life, folks.
This is my life.
Gumdrop starts to pee in a yard.
He's a dog.
We pick up the poo.
When he pees, it's grass.
Around the same time our dog starts to relieve himself.
He's a dad of the adjoining property.
He sees the dog and out of his side of his mouth, he says, "Oh, I can't wait to bring my dog down to your yard and pee in your yard."
Well, Nocatee.
My first reaction is, "Oh, that's funny. What's your name? I'm Bob."
He stops.
Straightens up a little bit.
Looks me up and down.
Looks me right in the eye and goes, "I'm Mike. Why?"
I'm like, "I'm Bob. We're going to spend a lot of time. I live right down the street from you. I just want to introduce myself."
A couple of months later, Jill, my wife and I find out that his real name is Leonard.
His real name is Leonard!
In that moment of feeling vulnerable, the guy changed his identity.
That's my thing.
Touche. Touche.
Sometimes you achieve your childhood dreams.
Sometimes you see behind the curtain of fame, and you don't like what you see.
Sometimes you marry a girl that still makes you feel like out of my league.
[applause]
Sometimes you have kids that humble you in the most wonderful way.
And you realize that the only audience I have to please in my life are the people who give a ####
[applause]
The people who love me and the only fame I need is to have a really cool nickname.
[laughter]
My husband, my dad, Goober.
Thank you.
[applause]
Barbara Colaciello:
Give it up for Bob Wiltfong.
Bob Butler.
Bob Allen.
Bob Wiltfong:
Bob Allen.
Depends on the day.
Barbara Colaciello:
All his aliases, Bob Dad.
Bob Wiltfong
Thank you.
Barbara Colaciello:
Thank you so much.
Please welcome, Yvette Angelique.
[applause]
Yvettte Angelique:
Hello, everybody.
Hello.
DC is in the house.
Whoo.
Y'all.
Listen.
Listen.
I've been around for six decades.
So when it comes to there and back again, I got stories.
[laughter]
So, you want to go in the head?
This is my little sister telling me, in my nine-year-old self, in our bedroom, in Palmer Park, Landover, Maryland.
This was her cue to get me to start doing some storytelling at night.
It was like my imagination was always turned on, and it always started at bedtime.
You see, I was married to Alexander Mundy from "It Takes a Thief."
He stole from government, or for the government, I should say.
She was married to Jim West from the "Wild Wild West", and he was a Secret Service agent.
So both of our husbands were spies.
We were beautiful black women.
We wore Barbara McNair hair, you know, it was like puffed up at the top, straight with that big flip.
You know, happening at the bottom with a big white headband?
We would travel to places all over the world like spy wives do.
[laughter]
We would go to places like Istanbul, Morocco, Spain.
They would take us everywhere.
And I would make up these stories every single night,
and we'd be giggling and laughing,
and my mother would be downstairs there, "Hey girls!
Get your ass asleep!
Gotta go to school tomorrow!"
"Alright, yes, mom, yes, mom."
And it was always hard for me to go to sleep.
Lisa would always go first.
I would hear her snoring, which would let me know story time was over.
And then I would go to sleep.
But the next day, it was hard getting up.
41:32
[sings]
♪ Last night, I didn't get to sleep at all. ♪
♪ No! No! ♪
Remember that song?
"Fifty Mention", Marilyn McCool?
That was my jam.
Because with every story, there was a song.
I mean, I'm a musician, right? Yeah.
Well, let's just take this on a little further in the early 1990s.
As time I'm up in the Philadelphia market.
And I'm vice president, director of diversity, at a major bank.
And I mean, this was in the early 90s, like people think it's a new thing today, but this was in the early 90s where you're doing this.
And part of my job was to help educate people in the company, and particularly I was working with the top executives around racism and sexism.
We were focused on those two areas at that time.
So I'm doing a diversity thing with my colleagues who are the heads of the company.
And the assignment is that we have to tell a story to each other about the first time we became aware of our own race.
So I'm sitting there listening to these stories about how, you know, I had a black woman who was like my grandma.
She was like, "She was so good to me. Miss Betty Lou, Miss Miss Anne, Miss Miss, whatever."
She couldn't come in the front door.
We let her in in the back door.
And even though she cooked our meals every day, she was such a fabulous cook.
She didn't eat with us.
She had to eat in the kitchen.
So I'm sitting down and I'm taking in all these stories.
So then I get to tell my story.
I was in junior high school.
I was at the same height I am now, maybe about an inch shorter, which meant at 14 years old I was mammoth.
And my best friend, her name was Beth.
She wore her hair cut real short blonde.
She kind of looked like a boy.
I mean, she wore a boy clothes.
She wore no makeup, like all the girls who wear makeup.
And so, you know, she and I were just buddies.
We hung out together all the time.
So one Saturday she invites me over to her house on the other side of town.
And I go over there and we check out the pool that's in her neighborhood.
It's actually a pool that's in an apartment complex where they let all the neighborhood kids come and swim.
So Beth and I, we go over there.
We're like swimming.
We're playing tag.
We're having a good time.
We're sunning and funning all in the afternoon.
Great Saturday.
So then I see her in school on Monday.
And I notice that she's walking towards me, you know, down the hall.
And when I look at her face, it's like melted butter.
I said, girl, what is up?
What's up with you?
She said, you're not going to believe this.
She said, but the manager of the pool came to my house and talked to my mother and told her that I was never to bring you back to the pool.
They drained the pool.
And I said, I didn't pee in the pool.
She said, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, it wasn't that.
It's because you're black.
I said, what?
So she's looking at me and I'm looking at her.
We can't even begin to process what has happened.
So I tell my story like this to this group of executives and they're looking at me like we were looking at each other.
Because what do you do with that story?
[sings]
♪ Is this the real life? ♪
♪ Is this just fantasy? ♪
♪ Caught in a landslide? ♪
♪ No escape from reality? ♪
♪ Remember that? ♪
Queen was my jam.
No?
Because I play guitar.
So we're going to fast forward this up.
I'm still at the bank.
It's about eight years later.
Now I'm a real big muckering muck.
I work right for the CEO.
I have a big division that's under my direction.
And we had just been through this major reengineering in which I was part orchestrator.
Well, the one thing I didn't orchestrate was the name.
It was called Best.
Worst name in the world.
Especially when you know you're going to lay off staff.
That's not a good name to call a lay off situation.
Anyway, so I'm in my nice L-shaped office overlooking City Hall one late evening, which I spent lots of late evenings in my office.
And I get a visit from a colleague who has lost his job.
So Jay works at another building.
He comes over and he pokes his head in my office.
He says, "Hey, you got a minute?"
I said, "Yeah, Jay, come on in."
He says, "He sits down on my couch and his hands are in his lap and he's looking down."
He said, "I just got Bested."
Best became a verb when you lost your job.
"You know, I know Jay.
Look, you're going to be okay."
I said, "We're giving you a generous severance.
We're going to have some outplacement that's going to work with you on strategies to find another job."
And I said, "Look, you're in a lending group. You have a ton of contacts in your network.
You're going to land somewhere really fast, really soon."
He sits there.
"What am I going to tell my wife?"
So now I'm listening.
"I've got two kids in college, one in Villanova, one at Brown, and what about our place at the shore?"
So I'm listening.
"You know what?
I want to go upstairs on top of this building of Center Square and just walk off."
So I look at him and I say, "Jay, you know I can't let you go after having told me this."
He said, "I know."
So I call employee assistance and we get Jay some help.
And it just stays with me that feeling and his face, because you know what?
I could have been Jay.
I was rising to the top, had a nice, fat, bake account, riding limousines, flying here and there,
operating billion dollar budgets.
Yeah, that could have been me, but I would never let it be me because I can't imagine for one second
being so married to a job that I would consider jumping off of a building for it.
So I got clear.
When I first joined the bank, I really wanted to own my own business.
And I said, "Girl, it's time for you to do that right now."
So it took about two years of some power moves and some negotiations, but what I did was I made a deal with the bank I was with.
I made a business case for outsourcing the group I was managing as a separate business for the bank
in which they own part shares and the management team and I own shares
and that we would sell services back to the bank as well as their corporate customers.
And that was the beginning of a management consulting group that was called Prime Directive Consulting Group.
I ran that business for 15 years.
After having the business for years, I acquired 100% of the shares, so then I was 100% owners of that business,
and we did extremely well.
So you would think this was it, right? This is my happily ever after story, right?
No! It doesn't go like that.
So I'm sitting in a meeting with a client.
I'm working with a school district where the superintendent is black.
The mayor is black.
The head of City Council, the president is a city council, is black.
The governor loves all of them and it's like, whatever you all want to do, I'm supporting you.
So I'm looking at this great opportunity to change the lives, particularly for the black kids who were failing
an astronomical rate.
We can make a difference in the lives of these black children and the parents, and it's going to be in a way where everybody benefits.
I really believe, because I had all of these black folks in the room, that we could really change things.
And what I saw was infighting, power, struggle, positioning for more power.
Nobody had the kids in mind. Nobody had the parents in mind.
So then I'm sitting there thinking, what in the hell am I doing in this space?
How am I making the difference like I always have?
So I come home and my husband and I, we decide that we're going to put together a joint vision.
We want to live in a place where it's like we're on vacation.
And we're going to do this once the kids graduate from high school because we didn't want that drama.
So we had a couple of years. So we started going to all these different cities.
We went to the southeast, we went to the southwest, we had already lived in California.
So it's like, okay, let's just try out some of these places.
And so we finally found a place that we liked and we came back two or three times.
So we found and go, oh my God, it's my Mecca, it's my nouvana, it's Jacksonville.
[laughter]
Now, hang with me for a minute.
In theory, this should have been correct.
Because my criteria was had to be by moving water.
What we got?
Rivers, oceans, right?
Had to be a 30-minute drive to the airport.
You could circle that around Jacksonville pretty much anywhere.
You can get that, right?
I had to have a 40%—remember I'm a banker—a 40% population of African Americans.
Because somebody's got to do a sister's locks.
[laughter]
And it needed to have a gay population.
So I, you know, that's a little bit more trickier to find out.
But I do my homework through the advocate in some other places and I get data on Jacksonville.
Yo, we got a big gay population here at Jacksonville!
So I was like, all right!
Because where I had some gay folks and I got the black folks and I am complete.
And then the next thing I wanted was a thriving arts community.
Guess what we got here?
We got art.
I went to CoRK.
I didn't know the CoRK was closed most of the time.
Except for that one weekend it was open when I was here, right?
And then I went to the Ritz Theater and I went, oh my God, it's like a black museum.
Oh my God, I'm so excited.
And then there was this place called the Comer and then it was the Riverside Arts and then there was live music everywhere.
I was in the house.
Jacksonville, you know?
I would tell her, I'm going to Jacksonville.
Where's that?
Nobody in the northeast knows where Jacksonville is.
So we moved to Jacksonville.
I'm here.
And I said, this is where I'm going to focus on my artistic life.
I've been doing it part time, little time up in the northeast.
Now that's going to be my identity.
I'm going to take off my recovery, now recovering banker.
You know, I'm taking off that life and that former CEO life.
That's done.
I am an artist.
I'm going to continue to do my workshops and, you know, I'm going to be very Zen.
This is where I will find my piece.
So one of my neighbor friends says, hey, that, I wasn't even here a month.
You don't come down to City Hall with us?
I said, why?
What's going on?
Well, we got this HRO thing that we're trying to get through.
I said, as an human rights ordinance, HRO?
I said, yeah, I said Jacksonville doesn't have one?
I said, dang, I did that two and a half decades ago in Philadelphia.
They said, well, then you must know something.
Come on down here.
I'm like, just come down here and do this down there with us.
And I said, get the hell out of here.
All right.
Then it was like, what?
Confederate statues.
What the hell?
We got, we got who?
Where?
I saw black women in the daughters of the Confederacy.
The daughters, I just, I was like, you know, this is a world gone mad!
I ain't never seen this!
I'm just a DC girl living in a Florida world.
Right?
So here I am doing what I know how to do.
I know how to do art.
I know how to do storytelling.
And I sure as hell know how to change things because that's what I've been doing my whole
dad gone life.
And yes, I got that chance to go to Kenya.
And I've had the chance to go to Singapore and Mumbai.
Yes, I did all that jet setting since I've been here.
But when I decided that I was going to anchor myself here.
Now, I want to be that voice that says,
[sings]
♪ We who believe in freedom cannot rest ♪
♪ We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it's done. ♪
Thank you.
David Luckin
The live performances of "Untold Stories" at the Florida Theatre were originally recorded by Jeremy Moore and Eric Stanfield.
Saul Lucio is the technical director of the Florida Theatre.
The Untold Stories broadcast and podcast was produced by Brady Corum and Ray Hollister.
[applause]
[music]
[BLANK_AUDIO]
